Date: Tue, 29 May 2012 20:53:41 +0100 (BST)
From: Hasan Khan
Subject: Welcome to America , Part 1
This story is fiction. Any resemblance of names to real persons or
institutions is accidental or coincidental. No personal reference is
intended.
The shouts and cries of the Moss Bank School supporters echoed round the
swimming pool arena as Nigel Redmond's arms and legs beat through the
surface of the water bringing him to within inches of winning the County
Shield for his school for the third year running. The Year 11's lithe body
whipped through the water and a deafening roar broke out the moment his
fingertips touched the white tiles of the pool wall. Holding on the pool
edge for a few moments he beamed with pride and satisfaction before
climbing out to stand with his arms raised in a show of pride and
acknowledgement of the school's cheering crowd. Sam Crompton, the long time
swimming coach at Moss Bank marched over to shake the boys hand and then in
a moment of emotion, embrace the dripping youth. Sam Crompton was not
normally given to overt displays of affection or congratulation but knowing
that the sixteen year old had now made his last appearance for Moss Bank he
felt a twinge of sadness and disappointment at seeing his star win his
final race for the school.
Nigel Redmond stood on the top step of the three tiered winners' podium and
the County Schools Federation Secretary placed the gold medal around
Nigel's damp neck and let it drop onto the hairless chest of the boy before
handing him the County Cup which would later be placed in the school's
trophy cabinet. The sixteen year old beamed with satisfaction, listening
to the cheers of his schoolmates. The boy was their hero and for more than
a few of his peers a real live wet dream. At five feet and six inches,
Nigel had perhaps not reached his full height but his slim waist, the
swimmer's arms and thighs, a broadening chest and the generously packed red
Speedo slip all suggested a male growing to the peak of physical
perfection. A vague outline of teenage cock and balls was visible to
anyone who cared to look and many did, curious to know more about the
hidden treasure.
"It'll be great I'm sure. They'll have wonderful pools and training
facilities over there. Dad's bound to be able to find a good school. Even
one with its own pool. I'm just sorry I won't be here to be in the
under-18 finals when you'll be doing your A levels." Nigel was reclining on
his bed chatting with Kevin Murphy his best friend and co-team member at
Moss Bank School. "Dad says he's got the tickets booked for the third week
of August, the apartment has already been leased and he starts at the New
York branch after something called Labour Day. I think he's got some
schools lined up already. All we need is my GCSE results and we'll be off."
"Sam's going to have his work cut out with you gone. I wonder who he'll
pick as Captain for next year. No one can beat you. Even Pete Booth is
always a couple of lengths behind you and he's supposed to be second best
for free-style."
The two boys shared a lot more than an enthusiasm for swimming. Since
starting a Moss Bank five years ago they had been inseparable since the day
they first shared a shower head after their first taste of secondary school
PE. Primary school games lessons had always been on the playground or in a
small games room, girls pulling on games skirts in the classroom whilst the
boys were sent to the cloakroom to change in and out of gym shorts. Moss
Bank was different: changing rooms with metal cages and hooks for clothes
and a long, narrow white tiled room with shower heads running down each
side. Not enough for one per boy and so it was that Nigel had found himself
next to Kevin after their first lesson in the gym with its wall bars,
ropes, jumping apparatus, hoops and nets. At eleven years old they were
still children but already on the brink of puberty. Glistening with soap
and with rivulets of warm water running down their hairless bodies they
laughed and joked enjoying the new experience of shared
maleness. Simultaneously beginning to soap around their cocks and balls,
Nigel looked down to see his new friend pull back the tube of skin on his
little cock. Out popped a little red acorn and then the boy pulled his skin
further back to rinse the pink skin which was so more delicate in colour
than the outside of his cock. Nigel had never seen such a thing
before. When he tried to push at his own tube of skin in imitation of his
new friend, nothing moved.
That night in the comfort and secrecy of his bedroom young Nigel fingered
his little two inch cock. He played with the bunched up skin and tried to
see if it would move backwards like Kevin's. Nothing doing. Night after
night he produced only miniature erections when his bunch of skin shortened
a bit and stretched itself around the acorn inside.
As the moved up the school he saw that more and more boys were starting to
skin back in the showers but his own foreskin, for he now knew that that
was what it was called, refused obstinately to pull back more than a
fraction. On a good day, he could pull without pain just enough to reveal
the tip of his helmet and its little piss slit. By the age of fourteen
another complication had set in. His cock was getting hard at any time of
the day or night and he felt the ever more powerful urge to rub at it and
enjoy the moment when it shot out a creamy salty ejaculation. Sliding his
hand up and down the growing shaft, rubbing his finger into the tight
little opening of skin to tease his piss slit and massaging his helmet
through the foreskin Nigel was as capable as any other teenager of
pleasuring himself every night of the week.
It did occur to Nigel more than once to ask his father about his little
problem but teenage shame and embarrassment precluded any real attempt. He
hoped and presumed that one day things would sort themselves out. Both
Science class and Religious Studies had included mentions of something
called circumcision though no teacher went into any more detail than the
vague mentions given in the text books: a measure for hygiene but not
widespread in Europe or a religious ritual for Jews and Moslems. Nigel
occasionally glimpsed the dark skinless cocks of Samir Abdul and Nasir
Hussein but the two boys were not given to exhibitionism and always
undressed, showered and dressed as discreetly as possible in the midst of
their foreskinned classmates. The idea that circumcision should be a remedy
for his problem never occurred to Nigel.
Shortly after his sixteenth birthday Nigel made yet another of his numerous
attempts to skin himself back whilst relaxing in the bathtub. His three
inch flaccid cock floated above his wrinkled and hairy ball sac. Perhaps
it was the warmth of the water or the fact that nature was repairing
itself, but several years too late as far as he was concerned, out popped
his helmet as he slowly but firmly tugged at the skin.
Unfortunately satisfaction turned to disappointment as the retracted skin
started to tighten and squeeze itself under Nigel's helmet the moment his
cock began to stiffen, not exactly painfully but uncomfortable none the
less. Any attempt to pull the foreskin forward now seemed to be
fruitless. Trusting that nature would take its course Nigel washed his
hair, soaped himself and by the time he was finished his cock had
deflated. The foreskin was still apparently locked behind his helmet but a
forceful and somewhat painful tug brought it back to its normal position.
That night Nigel experimented once more and discovered that when soft he
could slowly and carefully retract his foreskin, to just behind his
helmet. Any attempt to pull it down the shaft became painful. How it was
that Kevin was now able to skin himself back almost to his balls? Kevin now
realised that if stiff and hard there was no way that his foreskin was ever
going to pull back any further than a little below his piss slit. Whatever
the case, tonight he intended to wank skinned back. Waiting for the moment
when his five inch erection had subsided he slowly and firmly he pulled
back the troublesome skin and stared at his red mushroom helmet, its tender
velvety skin glistening in the lamplight. Rubbing at his helmet he sent
shivers through his groin as the over-sensitive gland reacted to his
ministrations. Wrapping his hand around his shaft he tried to imitate what
he had seen in the showers and toilets of Moss Bank where displays of
teenage masturbation were not unknown. It was too uncomfortable to pull on
his cock vigorously as Kevin seemed to enjoy doing: the tender skin
tightening itself under his helmet resisted the pull downwards. Nigel opted
for some slow caressing of his balls and a three finger wank from the base
of his stiff cock. Closing his eyes and fantasising about the cocks of the
boys of Moss Bank, with the foreskins sliding up and down over mushroom,
bullet or plum shaped helmets he brought himself off letting his spunk
shoot over his bushy forest of boy hair onto the tight muscled surface of
his abdomen. At last he was on the road to normal manhood.........
Edging closer to Kevin and putting an arm around his friend's shoulders
Nigel whispered into his ear "There's just one thing I'll be missing over
there. You know what it is." With that he reached down to stroke Kevin's
groin and feel at the heavy cock and balls through the light material of
his friend's sports shorts. Kevin stretched his legs to allow Nigel to
reach deep between his thighs and backwards towards his ass before starting
to reciprocate but was quickly repulsed by Nigel. "Stop Kevin. I've got to
do something." Quickly pulling his own shorts and briefs down Nigel knew he
had to get his skin pulled back before he got too hard. Kevin watched as
his friend carefully pulled back his foreskin bit by bit until the shiny
red helmet was freed from its prison. "Now you can touch it but be
careful. It sometimes hurts at the back so don't pull it there."
The two sixteen year old petted and caressed each other's cocks. Nigel
enjoyed the chance to be able to wank Kevin's long loose foreskin up and
down the shaft, forwards and backwards over the prominent helmet, wondering
if in a couple of years he would be able to do the same for
himself. Nigel's helmet was red and sore looking in comparison to Kevin's
purple coloured plum and Nigel pulled back whenever Kevin's fingers tried
to rub it. Wondering how he could bring Nigel to cum without hurting him,
Kevin did what he had only ever done in his dreams: bending down he pursed
his lips to kiss the tip of Nigel's cock and then enveloped the red gland
in his mouth. The super sensitive helmet thrilled to the ministrations of
Kevin's tongue and Nigel felt that he would cum in an instant when his
friend began to swallow his tight skinned cock and lick up and down the
length of it shaft. "It's coming, it's coming. Stop,slow down," Nigel
gasped as hot waves of passion swept through him. But it was too late to
stop it. His balls had already tightened, his arse had clenched and the
throbbing had already begun to make itself felt the length of his
cock. Unable to control himself he shot his salty cum into Kevin's mouth
feeling as if he wanted this moment to last forever.
"Let me cum on you" Kevin pleaded. "Wank me hard like you did before."
Nigel gripped his fist around the larger cock of his friend enjoying every
movement of the foreskin up and down the almost six inch shaft. Not only
longer but thicker than his Nigel's cock Kevin's penis swelled rock hard in
Nigel's hand. Once fingers began to rub at his balls and with his foreskin
whipping up and down at what seemed like an impossible speed Kevin's hip
began to buck and the familiar hot waves began to spread through his
groin. "Lean back, pull it over" he gasped as his spunk started to shoot up
his cock. The first spurts landed in Nigel's bush but the remainder shot
out forcefully on to Nigel's stomach, one even making its way into the
dimple of his navel..........
20 August 2008 arrived and as expected Nigel Redmond was up at the top of
the year with nine GCSEs, all at A and even A*. A likely candidate for
Oxbridge and certainly a potential Head Boy, he would unfortunately for
Moss Bank, be leaving England's green and pleasant land within forty eight
hours for the bright lights of New York. Mr. Redmond, his father was a
senior manager with an Anglo-America banking corporation where promotion at
executive level very often meant emigration for the English employees.
Before the week was out the Redmond family, Nigel his parents and ten year
old brother were settling into a spacious apartment leased for them in the
southern end of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Up on the eighth floor overlooking the
Narrows their balcony gave them a view of distant Manhattan, magical at
night as the lights of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings glistened in
the haze, towering over the carpet of light given off by a thousand
skyscrapers. The nearby Verrazano Bridge towers could be seen clearly
climbing into the sky, red lights twinkling at their tops. In the distance,
across the water Staten Island and New Jersey beckoned. Mr. Redmond had
done his "homework" and on the next Monday Nigel and his parents were in
the Principal's office of Atlantic High School only a few blocks away from
their residence.
"Fine results you have there" remarked Mr. Salvatore, "I think we'll be
putting you in the honours class for advanced math and science," as he
considered the print out of the recent GCSE results.
"That's good news" replied Mr. Redmond, adding that they wanted their son
to be registered at Atlantic High not least because of its reputation for
sports, adding proudly that his son was a three times county championship
freestyle winner. "If that's the case then we'll soon have him on a
scholarship programme" announced the Principal. "Nigel, make sure to see
coach Russo on Junior orientation day. You'll be a fine addition for his
teams."
Only a few days of sightseeing and exploring were left and soon it was time
for Mr. Redmond to start his daily round of commuting into lower Manhattan
and for Nigel to come to terms with the newness of an American high school,
so glitzy, foreign and strange after the familiarity and cosiness of five
years at Moss Bank. Book store, home rooms, schedules, faculty, phys
ed. Math, locker and a whole string of vocabulary had to be
mastered. Instead of being in Lower Sixth he was now in Junior Year, and
what did Sophomore mean?
Atlantic High's boys really did look like the cast from a TV serial or
movie: handsome and healthy Greeks, Italians, Lebanese and a few Latin
Americans and Afro-Americans making up the roster which read like a
Mediterranean telephone directory, with hardly an "English" name among
them. Brilliant white teeth, carefully coiffured hair, sturdy bodies and
incredible self confidence marked most of the boys out as budding
stars. Immaculately dressed in stylish chinos, polos or dress shirts they
all appeared to Nigel as having dropped off another planet compared to his
former classmates in their outgrown school uniforms, off white shirts and
half knotted ties.
After the numerous and often confusing activities of orientation with his
home room group Nigel went off in search of Mr. Russo. Following the
disappointment of realising that instead of A level Mathematics, Economics
and Geography he was going to be following a ten subject programme which
seemed to be like a repeat of his English high school timetable, the
thought of getting onto the swimming team cheered him up. The school
really was like a sports complex with classrooms attached: past gymnasiums
and practice courts, tracks and training rooms, offices and stores he
eventually reached Mr. Russo's office up on the second floor of the
swimming pool complex.
The swimming coach was a youngish man, tall and tanned like the majority of
his pupils. "How can I help you young man?"
"I want to join the swimming team" Nigel innocently replied.
"You're new here aren't you. We don't have `the' swimming team: there are
eight. Now what class are you in and what's your style?"
"Well I suppose I'm best at butterfly but I was school champion for
backstroke on two occasions and I've always been on the freestyle and relay
teams."
"Very impressive. Now what class are you in?" Catching himself from
replying Lower Sixth, Nigel replied "Junior."
"That's the class of 2010." The whole thing was a mystery to Nigel. He had
indeed heard somewhere along the line that he was to `graduate' two years
later, in 2010.
"OK, young man. Senior and Junior try outs are on Wednesday at 3pm. You be
here. No trunks or beach wear. Speedo briefs or slips only. Take these
forms: parental permission and sports physical application. You need a
certificate from Bay Sports Medical Center, get an appointment before the
end of the week. I need a certificate of physical fitness before you can
join training. Look forward to seeing you in action. See you Wednesday."
Wednesday afternoon couldn't come quickly enough for Nigel and when it did
he found himself in the massive almost Olympic size pool that the sports
complex housed. How did a school afford such a place? There were over
thrity of the school's finest physical specimens waiting to win a place on
the swim teams. Coach Rosso put them each through their paces timing them
with his electronic stop watch, down to the last tenth of a
second. Scrutinising arm and leg movements he made each one perform breast,
back and crawl strokes before asking for volunteers to try for the
butterfly. The young English boy outstripped every one of the more solidly
built Americans as he flipped like a dolphin through the water and earned
himself an unheard of round of applause from his envious fellow students as
he clambered out of the pool, exhausted but more than pleased with his
little triumph. Surely he would be guaranteed a place after that display.
Lined up against the side of the pool, the Atlantic swim team hopefuls
looked like a row of Greek statues, solid arms and thighs, handsome faces
and well defined abdominal muscles. The blue, white, black and red Speedo
briefs which clung to each one only accentuated the beauty of this line of
masculine perfection, pushing genitals into prominence, sometimes
discreetly veiling hidden treasures but for others only serving to
accentuate the solid cock tubes and sacs of balls. Trying not to stare, or
at least not appearing to stare Nigel, could not help but notice the
rounded cone shapes at the ends of several cock outlines, reminiscent of
those belong to Samir and Nazir back at Moss Bank. The students stood
nervously and silently waiting for the coach to announce his
decisions. There was no ceremony surrounding the announcement.
"Listen up. Junior admissions to Atlantic Swim roster: Redmond, del Santo,
Cucciano, Gregoriakis, Delgardo, Evans."
The coach then gave out the Senior list but Nigel mind was already working
on the fact that the lists were not in alphabetical order. Did that mean
that he was fastest or first for technique and overall impression?
Whatever, it was an excellent start and he was sure that Sam Crompton would
be glad to hear the news of how he the new lad from Lancashire, England had
made his way into the swimming team of one of New York's finest sport
academies.
For Nigel the biggest surprise of the day still had not been revealed. The
boys or rather young men, trooped off to the locker room, as he now had to
call it, no more changing rooms or boot rooms. The shower room gleamed with
white tiles and strong lighting. The shower heads each had individual
controls, unlike the ones in England where one master tap controlled both
flow and temperature. This was luxury, power shower heads which shot out
water at four of five different speeds, stinging or massaging the skin as
required. The air was thick with the aroma of hair and body wash freely
available from wall mounted dispensers next to each shower. Thirty boys
shared twenty showers in the communal space, friends joked and pushed,
teased and grabbed at each other leaving Nigel Redmond the new boy, with
the privilege of a shower to himself.
Having washed his hair, modestly facing the wall, Nigel felt curiosity
overcome him and turned slowly to feel the power shower hit him with his
full force on his back. He became conscious of heads turning towards him
looking not at his head and shoulders but rather down towards his bushy
growth of hair and slender cock. As he slowly began turn his body right and
left to feel the full effect of the power shower work its magic on his
shoulder and back muscles his own eyes wondered across the by now animated
groups of students. Even through the noise of twenty shower heads he could
hear the words "uncut" "dick skin" "anteater" repeated several times. Nigel
was not surprised to see a typical shower room scene of dicks swinging
freely, long and short, thick and thin, dark and pale and every combination
thereof. But he was astonished to see that every last one of these students
was circumcised. Having only ever glimpsed for a few moments the
circumcised penises of Samir and Nasir back at Moss Bank he was amazed to
see the display of foreskinless penises here. Not a single boy with a
foreskin. Short stubby cocks, thickening man sized organs and teenagers on
the brink of manhood, they were all there but not one had a
foreskin. Fascinated by the display he knew that they could not all be Jews
or Moslems. What was more, most of them seemed to have dark rings of skin
somewhere between the helmet and half way down the shafts as if they had
been operated in series.
Feeling somewhat intimidated by the stares and the conversations which
seemed to be focussed on his uniqueness Nigel turned once more to the wall
to soap himself down and get out of the place as quickly as possible hoping
that in the coming days he would get the chance to find out why these
Americans were all so different to him. There had to be some reason he
didn't know about. He would surely start to make friends and the
opportunity would arise to ask such an awkward and intimate question. Nigel
had already convinced himself that if he really was the top swimmer
according to the list then there would be no shortage of new friends.
Everyone is anxious to meet a hero, as a foreigner even more so, he would
be a subject of interest and curiosity.
That evening over dinner Nigel told his parents about his triumph at the
school swimming arena and left them to fill in the forms coach Russo had
given to him. Proud and pleased that the boy had made such a promising
start Mr. Redmond felt relieved that the move was working out for the best.
Alone in the quiet of his room, already decorated with posters of his
Speedo clad Commonwealth and Olympic heroes, Nigel stripped off for bed and
lay naked on the duvet satisfied with the day's accomplishment. Closing his
eyes his pictured in his mind's eye the bright shower room and the
collection of circumcised cocks which had surrounded him. Slowly pulling at
his foreskin he cast his mind back to Moss Bank with Kevin, Darren, Jason,
Gavin and the rest of them soaping the cocks after swimming practice each
working on his own distinctive cock and skinning back to rinse out. Jason
with his pointed and pinched foreskin, Gavin and his short open overhang,
Darren whose helmet had outgrown his foreskin when they were still in Year
8 and of course his personal favourite, Kevin with his long ragged tube of
skin hanging of the end of his cock. Did the Atlantic High boys know what
they were missing? By now Nigel's cock had thickened and swelled and it
was too late to try and skin back. He brought himself of by working his
finger into the small opening of his foreskin and massaging the tip of his
helmet with one hand whilst working on the rest of it through its tight
covering. Imagining what del Santo, Gregoriakis and the rest of them would
look like with foreskins, long or short whatever, Nigel squeezed and rubbed
at his throbbing cock and began to feel a clenching in his buttocks
signalling the imminent ejaculation. Catching most of the cum in a Kleenex
he let the last drops seep down into the tight space between his foreskin
and helmet, massaging the cream onto his sensitive glans.
Pulling on a loose pair of boxer shorts, Nigel Redmond rolled on his side
and quickly dozed off into dream land.
If you enjoyed the story so far let me know. Next eposide, Nigel quickly
fits in as an all-American boy at Atlantic High.